Tainted
by BeautifulFiction
Summary: All he cared about was forgetting what had happened a few hours ago - forgetting about Hern and the lecherous, hungry look in his eyes. Roy/Ed slant.


Warning: Contains scenes of a non-consensual nature between Ed and an OC that some people may find disturbing. Please read responsibly.

_A/N: This piece is not part of the Babylon universe, although it is an AU timeline. Ed has successfully retrieved Al from the gate and they have both remained in Amestris.  
_

_The expression "calling time" is when a barkeeper stops serving drinks. It originates from the alcohol laws in Britain that stated alcoholic beverages could not be served after 11 p.m. (10 p.m. on a Sunday.) The barkeeper rings a bell to signify that the bar is closed.  
_

* * *

**Tainted**

Ed's fingers tapped on the half-empty tumbler in front of him, sending ripples through the amber liquid inside. There was no rhythm to his motion, and the noise in the smoky bar almost drowned out the unsteady melody of metal on glass. He'd had too much. Hell, he had probably had too much an hour ago, but it still was not enough.

When he was younger, he had never understood why adults drank a substance that was basically poison. Why would anyone do that for fun? With all the arrogance that a thirteen year old could possess he had thought they were stupid: flawed in some way for thinking that it could be anything but bad for them.

Now, he knew that people did it for different reasons. Some would swallow alcohol for the confidence, or for a taste of warm, hazy ambivalence when their minds would not wind down. Other people drank to forget. They swallowed down the venom of their choice with single-minded determination. When life got too much they knew where to turn. They wanted oblivion, and they found it in a bottle – normally at the bottom. Alcohol became their crutch; it was their burden and relief all in one.

Ed could not really pinpoint when he had started building a wall of toxic haze between himself and reality. One day, when the world had seemed filthy and rotten to its core – when he thought he would never get his brother back and survive – he had just wandered away, turning his back on it all.

He had been too young, of course. He was too young to be here now, but the bartender could ignore a lot when faced with a shiny pocket watch and a paying customer. The drink had been foul. Cheap and vicious, it was like punishment in a glass, but he had swallowed it anyway. Two metal limbs meant less body weight, and it had not taken much to reach a point where he was comfortably numb. It had been a few hours of lazy, physical relief. His automail did not ache. Old scars did not twinge or pull, and the new scrapes he had acquired since crawling out of bed in the morning were turned senseless.

Eventually it had even softened his memories, making them distant and irrelevant. He could look back on every nightmarish incident in his life with a stranger's apathy, and it felt like he could almost be human again. Of course, a few hours later he had felt like hell, and his body spent the rest of the night and most of the next day reminding him that alcohol really was a poison.

A grimace twisted Ed's lips as he drained the glass. The spirit stung his split lip - still bleeding a touch - but the pain was distant enough to ignore. Instead he savoured the soft, spicy warmth of the drink on his tongue before swallowing it down. That first time had put him off for a while, but somehow he had found himself back here more than once, chasing that same feeling as if his life depended on it.

Every time it was harder to find that loss of mental clarity. Every time it seemed to take longer for his mind to slow down to the point where he could honestly say that, just for a little while, he'd forgotten it all. Now he did not care about the rest of it. He could deal with his mother, with Nina: with all of that. He had put those ghosts to rest when he finally snatched Al back from the gate and escaped with his own life still intact.

All he cared about was forgetting what had happened a few hours ago - forgetting _him_ and the lecherous, hungry look in his eyes.

A chill stole over him, pushing away the tingle of alcohol and making the bruise on his jaw thud dully. Slumping down further in his chair Ed crossed his arms, staring unseeingly at the empty tumbler. The worst part, the bit that made him physically sick, was that he had not realised what was going on until it was almost too late. Like a lamb to the bloody slaughter he had wandered into that office, irritated at the interruption and barely bothering to hide it.

It was not unusual, being called into a general's presence to answer questions on some report or other. Anyone above Mustang in rank was painfully aware of the ambitious Flame Alchemist. They were always looking for ways to bring him down, even if it meant using his subordinates. Hern was no different. The stocky man was in his mid-fifties: a husband and father who spent as much time away from his family as possible. He was often in his office until late at night and back again first thing in the morning.

There was something about him that Mustang simply loathed. Whenever his name was mentioned those dark eyes would narrow to slits. His jaw would tense as he gritted his teeth, as though trying to hold back a litany of disgust. At the time Ed had thought Hern was just the biggest obstacle in Roy's path to the top. Now he wasn't so sure about that.

The questions had been about his handling of the latest chimera case: pointless queries about resources available and other crap like that. Ed had answered them in a bored voice, not caring what the general thought. Hern would complain to Mustang later. They all did. To them Ed was insubordinate: a boy doing a man's job and doing it better than they ever could. Except that he was not really a boy any more and not quite an adult either. Instead he was caught in that graceless place somewhere in between.

'Another?' The barkeeper's gruff voice made him look up, and he frowned in confusion for a moment before noticing the empty glass in the man's hand.

'Yeah, thanks.'

The man grunted to himself, a faintly worried expression crossing his no-nonsense face as he filled the glass up with more than just a measure before bringing it back to the table and setting it down in front of Ed. There were questions. Ed could see them lurking in his eyes, but they were probably more related to payment than any real concern. Wordlessly, he handed over the cash and watched the guy wander away.

It could have been just another standard day. If he had fobbed off Hern's summons with some excuse and headed home he would be crashed out on the sofa by now, talking to Al and enjoying the sound of his voice. It was still new enough to be special, having his brother there in the flesh. Every flash of laughter in his eyes and every expression was still fresh enough to be a blessing rather than mundane.

But he couldn't have gone home like that, shaken and twitchy. Al would have known something was wrong before he had even stepped through the door. Of course, Al would know something was wrong now, but hopefully he could just blame it on the alcohol. If he was lucky "why" would never be asked.

Like "Why didn't you see this coming?"

Ed tried to slump further, but if he slouched any more he would fall off his chair. Instead he scowled at the tabletop. He had not seen it coming because there was no warning. One minute he'd been muttering something barely civil about what he thought of the army and their resources, and the next… .

The next normality had vanished and something mundane had taken on an entirely new slant. It had turned into a hunt, and he had been the prey.

'_You could have so much more if you were working under me, Fullmetal.'_

_Hern's lips were close enough to tickle the shell of his ear as his breath ghosted over Ed's skin, spicy with the scent of brandy. The rough hunger in the older man's voice was disturbing enough, but it was the splay of fingers across Ed's back that made him jerk away, his teeth already bared in a snarl. He was not some pet to be stroked!_

_He barely noticed the press of the desk against his hips as he staggered back, desperate for some kind of distance. His hands clenched into fists automatically, ready to lash out, but Hern was fast. In a heartbeat he was standing too close to take a swing at, a wall of man between Ed and the way out._

_'Don't touch me!' It was supposed to be a demand, but the words sounded scared and defenceless as he spat them out. Worse, it was just what Hern wanted. He was not looking for someone to lie back and think of Amestris. He wanted to fight for it and stake his claim. Ed's hissed words only darkened the gleam in his eyes to something more hungry and perverse._

His thoughts turned vacant as Ed tried to force the memories down, but his body was against him, recalling the sickening touches as if they had not stopped. He was a prisoner all over again.

_The fierce clutch of hands gripped his hips, pressing him back against the desk. A dry palm skimmed shakily under his t-shirt and down the muscles of his stomach towards his fly. Breath fluttered across his face and there was no space to fight or breathe or think. His head was so full with "what the_ fuck?" _that he didn't even think to knee the bastard in the crotch - didn't think to do anything until lips pressed down on his own and that tongue was shoved in his mouth, making him gag._

_It was instinct. He saw the opportunity and took it, crashing his teeth together against the invading thing. _

The memory of blood was a tide across his tongue, washing away the spice of the alcohol and making his stomach contract in a painful wretch. Desperately Ed grabbed his drink again, taking a swig and holding it in his mouth until it began to burn.

His thoughts were a litany of prayer, a desperate plea that this gulp, this glass, this bottle would set him free, would push the memories in his mind and on his skin far away. If nothing else let him remember that as the end and not have to think about what came next.

Finally he swallowed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back in a kind of surrender. His tangled thoughts lingered: chattering, ghoulish things that jumped from one fragment of memory to another.  
_  
'Fucking little slut!'_

_Pain on more pain, and no way to escape as a sudden punch knocked him to the floor. Hern on top of him, straddling Ed's hips and grinding down hard as the general panted. A lewd purr as Ed struggled fiercely, desperate to find the leverage to push him off and get away. Fingernails digging into his flesh wrist and drawing blood. A whimper of something like fear that he could not suppress and the sudden, vile flare of victory in the older man's eyes as he leaned close and whispered:_

_'I could have you court-martialled you know, and then what would your brother do? Perhaps he would be more cooperative than you - willing to spread his legs if I was lenient with your sentence?'_

_Fear became rage: a flipped coin of emotion. Ed wrenched his left arm free and threw a punch as hard as he could. It was awkward and clumsy, but all he saw was dense, red haze. The crunch of breaking bone was a cathartic noise in his ears: at that moment it had sounded like freedom._

_He twisted away, scrabbling out from under the general before lashing out with his left foot, catching Hern in the chest with a solid kick._

_'If you ever fucking touch my brother I will kill you.' _

Now, hours later, the temptation to just keep kicking until the man's ribs were nothing but dust was still a choking thing. He did not know if he had taken a step closer to finish the job. Perhaps he had imagined it. Maybe he had just turned to the door and frozen in shock when he realised who was standing at the threshold.

_Fuhrer Hakuro's palm was on the door-handle, his face grim as he took in the bruised form of the general and Ed's dishevelled appearance. Silence filled the room from edge to edge. Hern stayed on the floor; the picture of an innocent man brutally assaulted while Ed's knuckles oozed blood and his voice choked in his throat._

_"He touched me." That was all he had to say. The implications were clear to anyone who cared to listen, but the words were like stones in his mouth: unspeakable. It would be an official accusation against Hern. Perhaps he would be taken seriously and the man would be court-martialled, but rank had its privileges. Hern would get the first say, and the chances were he would be believed and Ed would be the one on trial._

_It could not come to that. It did not matter if people thought he had asked for it or had led the general on. What mattered was the past. What mattered was Al. If he was the one in the docks everything would come under scrutiny, and not even Mustang's miracles could keep his brother safe from the repercussions. Ed would rather go to jail for the rest of his life than see Al turned into some kind of lab rat: an example of the power of alchemy._

_His thoughts were so chaotic, so full of shrieking rage and the cold clamp of fear, that the Fuhrer had to repeat his request, waiting patiently as Ed stared._

_'I would like to speak to General Hern alone, if I may.'_

_The tall man stepped aside, and it was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Stiffly, not turning his back on Hern's slumped form, Ed stumbled towards freedom._

Ed glanced up, eyes narrow as he peered through the smoke haze in the bar. He expected military police, accusations, arrests – even now. How much longer before they barged through that door and had him in handcuffs? Assault on a superior officer, that's what Hern would say. The provocation would not matter. Grimly, Ed wondered if that was worth a jail sentence or the firing squad.

Probably the latter.

His glass, empty again, winked at him in the dull light. He should go home to Al, who was probably a nervous wreck by now. He should get out of here and forget it all - draw the line in between past and present and live in one, not the other. It was how he had managed to survive this long. Shit happened, so why was this time so much different?

With a sigh he gestured to the barkeeper. One more drink. Maybe then he would feel clean enough to get up and carry on.

* * *

If Roy had bothered to look up he would have seen the star-decked sky and a full, fat moon, but his eyes were staring fixedly ahead, utterly intent on his destination. At this late hour there were not many other pedestrians to get in his way, and those he did come across gave him a wide berth. That alone told him that his emotions were nowhere near as suppressed as he would like. He knew that he should get a grip and bring himself back under control, but _how_ was he meant to hide this?

_It was another late night at the office, and there was no one to blame for it but himself. Hawkeye's tolerance had worn paper-thin as the day passed, and she informed him in no uncertain terms that she would do permanent damage if the reports were not read and signed by morning. There was something in the way her eyes narrowed that told Roy she was not joking, and he was no fool. She may not kill him, but the woman knew how to make his life a misery._

_A knock on the door interrupted him halfway through the last document, and he glanced at the clock, puzzled. Absently he set the document down and reached for his gloves, slipping them onto his hands before calling out. 'Come in.'_

_He had not expected to see the Fuhrer standing on the threshold, looking for all the world as though he were trespassing. Hakuro waved off Roy's hasty salute as he walked into the office. He was alone. No guards dogged his footsteps. There was not even an assistant nearby._

_Roy felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease as Hakuro sighed. The stars on his shoulder, so new that they still shone like diamonds, glimmered in the lamp light. He had been Fuhrer for all of about four weeks, and already he looked years older than he had the first day in office._

_'I felt I should inform you that General Hern was witnessed making inappropriate advances on one of your subordinates.' The words were delivered in a flat, calm voice; the only sign of the Fuhrer's discomfort was the swiftness with which he spoke._

_Roy's mind froze, locked in a tight tangle of disbelief. Hern was a predator. He liked to fight for it – to struggle and control and take without permission because "please" was for the weak. Roy's tongue, thick and clumsy in his mouth, struggled to ask who, but before the word could escape the phone rang, making both men jump._

_For a second they stared at it dumbly before Hakuro motioned for him to take the call. Al's voice came over the line, still as weak as his new body but no longer hollow from the armour. Instead his words were human and tight with worry. He was sorry to call so late, but did Roy know where his brother was? Only Ed had promised to be home by six, and that was almost four hours ago. He knew his brother got distracted, but... ._

_But not even the glittering frontiers of alchemy could make Ed forget about Al._

_Oh, God._

_Roy's fingers locked around the receiver as somehow he managed to find his voice and promise Al that he would bring Ed home. The telephone clattered in his shaking hand as he put it back on the cradle. Hakuro had not moved, and Roy searched the Fuhrer's face for any sign that his conclusion was wrong, but it was not. Hern had touched Ed, and it was unlikely to be just a quick pet._

Roy gritted his teeth, but not before he hissed a vile curse into the quiet summer night, startling a young woman who scurried out of his way. The Fuhrer had said something about transfer to the North for the general. No military tribunal was needed; he had witnessed enough. The bastard would get away with it. There would be no trial, no jail, no firing squad, nothing: just a discreet dismissal, as if out of sight would really be out of mind. Everyone would forget about the lecherous general; everyone except for the people who had found themselves trapped by his touch. It was the only option, but it was nothing like justice.

He stopped on the pavement and took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth in a tight, fretful line. It had been instinct to get out of the office and find Ed. If asked, Roy could mention his promise to Al, but it had barely entered his mind. Rage was a tightly coiled snake, muscles bunched and ready to strike, but it had been deprived of its target and now he felt lost in its clutches. Quickly, resisting the aching tension in his knuckles to just click and ignite something, Roy stripped off his gloves and slipped them into his pocket. Best to remove temptation now than do something he may regret later on.

Protectiveness was not a good attribute in a commanding officer, but could he honestly say that nothing more than professional concern had driven him out at this time of night? Any other Brigadier-General would have carried on and perhaps made some gentle enquiries in the morning, but he had to know if Ed would pick himself up from this. After all, there was only so much that a person could put behind them, and Ed's past always cast a shadow on his future: an inescapable touch.

With a sigh Roy sat on a bench under one of the street-lamps, closing his eyes as he tried to bring his emotions back under control. He could see, all to easily, how Ed had ended up in the general's sights. It was impossible not to notice that the young alchemist had changed. Most people thought the metamorphosis had occurred since getting Al back whole, but it had happened before that.

For so many years Ed had been like a ship caught in the storm of his own emotions. Then one day he found his feet, and all the energy that went into his anger was focussed into rock-solid determination. His confidence, never lacking to begin with, only grew as he seemed to mature into his alchemy. Before, his abilities had both defined and limited him. People saw the alchemy first and the boy after. Now the opposite was true. Perhaps he still had his occasional moments of childishness, but, like a diamond in the rough, there was so much potential; sometimes that alone took Roy's breath away.

Now this had happened.

Hern had not seen a victim but a challenge. Here was someone who was neither physically or emotionally weak, and that bastard would have got more pleasure from breaking Ed than from actually taking him. Of course, Ed would have defended himself, and that would only have made matters worse. Perhaps Hern did not get off on the pain, but the more Ed proved himself to be a worthy adversary the more the general would have pushed.

The thought made him feel sick, and Roy's breath caught in his throat as he got to his feet and resumed walking, his hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. It did not take a genius to work out where Ed would go. Roy made it his job to know the little habits of his team: When Hawkeye was having a bad day she would go and shoot nine hells out of a target with the punchiest gun she could find. Breda turned to food for comfort, and Havoc's mood could be judged by the density of the smoke cloud around him. Everyone had their ways to escape, but Ed was different.

Until about a year ago he had just shoved it down inside, forcing it away until something had to give. It had been clear that one day either Ed would fall apart completely, or he would find something or someone to help him take away the darkness. Somehow Roy had never considered something as mundane as alcohol, his own vice, to find its way into Fullmetal's life.

That first time, coincidence had taken Ed to the same bar that Roy frequented. It had become a hiding place for both of them, as if the smoke could somehow obscure the real world, and the drink could bring that pure, clean peace that they craved. A quick call from the office tonight had confirmed that Ed was there, and he had barely bothered to see Hakuro out before setting off on his way.

A swift calculation made Roy grimace. Al had said that Ed should have been home four hours ago. If he had been in the bar instead then how much had he had to drink? Probably enough to make himself sick, but Roy would bet a year's wages that it would never be enough to make him forget Hern's advances.

His mind was so occupied with his racing thoughts that he did not pay any attention to where he was going, but it did not matter. His feet knew the way, and Roy looked both ways before crossing the road to the bar. The door swung shut behind him, letting in a breath of late summer air that stirred the smoke, but it did not disturb the late-night drinkers.

Automatically he met the gaze of the barkeeper, who jerked his head towards the corner. Even in the dimly lit room it was hard to miss Ed's bright gold hair. He was slumped in his seat, staring unseeingly at his almost-empty drink, and the expression on his face tied Roy's stomach in tight, anxious knots.

He had expected to find prickly anger and a "fuck off" glare, but there was none of that. Instead Ed just looked tired, as if he was fighting hard against something and gradually losing ground. He huddled in the uncomfortable chair as if he were trying to hide, and he didn't even glance up from the tabletop as Roy slipped into the seat opposite him.

He parted his lips to speak and then shut his mouth again, unsure what to say. A drink would help; it would be some kind of shield for him, but one would not be enough, and both of them being too drunk to stand was not the way to go. Instead he tugged the glass from Ed's unresisting grip and drained it, letting the warm spirit settle in his stomach. Not enough, of course, but it would have to do.

'Al's worried about you,' he murmured, feeling a spark of something close to relief when a flicker of guilt crossed Ed's face and dull, bloodshot eyes met his for a moment before glancing away with a shrug.

'I'll make it up to him.' His voice was rough, but the words weren't slurred or slow. Either he had not had as much as Roy originally thought, or the drink was having less effect on him these days. 'Is that why you're here, because Al asked you to find me?'

It was tempting to say, "yes", to take the coward's way out and not have to talk about this, but Roy knew that was impossible. His own conscience would not give him any peace if he acted like the rest of the army and pretended that nothing had happened. Quietly he said, 'Fuhrer Hakuro came to my office and told me that General Hern had tried to force himself on you.' Roy took a deep breath. 'Is it true?'

Ed actually flinched, and a faint, shamed flush ghosted across his pale cheeks. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his shoulders rounded a little further, trying to block Roy out of his world. He did not speak, but eventually he nodded once: a quick, terse motion. Both arms were already crossed over his chest, and the muscles in his left tightened noticeably, tense and unforgiving, as though he were afraid he would fall apart if he let go.

Ed's tongue darted out to lick his lip, and a sharp wince of pain tightened his eyes. His hair was dishevelled, half-pulled from its braid by questing hands, and Roy frowned when a swathe moved forward, revealing a darkening bruise on Edward's jaw.

Now that he looked closer he could spot other marks on Ed's flesh. There were fingerprint bruises and small crescent cuts around his left wrist, almost hidden, but not quite. Roy's eyes narrowed to slits as his gaze rested on a dark, rough edged mark on the column of Ed's neck: a bite. There were probably more bruises under his clothes, and hot bile rose in his throat as he wondered just how far Hern had managed to get.

'He hit you.' It was not a question, and there was no way Roy could hide the cold, flat hate in his voice

Ed's shoulders shifted in a shrug, as if worse things happened to him every day. 'I hit him back. He's probably claiming assault on a superior officer right now.'

'No one will listen,' Roy hissed, ignoring Ed's faint look of alarm at his outward display of emotion. 'Hakuro's posting him to the North, and accidents happen, even to generals.' He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table as he studied Ed's face. 'The army might seem careless, but it's not stupid. People have been turning a blind eye to Hern's behaviour for almost as long as you've been alive. This time they can't ignore it, not when the Fuhrer himself saw what happened.'

'So it's happened before?' Ed asked, falling quiet for a moment when Roy nodded. When he lifted his eyes there was a glimmer of something in the flat, weary amber of his gaze. 'Is that why you hate him so much? Did he – did he try and do something like this to you, once?'

Roy did not answer. It was a valid question, and Ed had every right to ask it. Roy had never hidden his loathing of Hern, but this was not the kind of conversation he could have sober. Resignedly he raised his hand to get the barkeeper's attention, muttering his thanks when a double scotch materialised a few moments later. He did not drink immediately, but stared into the bottom of the glass as he tried to organise his thoughts.

'It wasn't me he went for. I suppose I've just never been unlucky enough to catch his attention, but during the Ishbal war a close friend of mine -' He shrugged uncomfortably. '- he brought himself to Hern's notice somehow, and he could not get away.' Stiffly, he took a gulp of the drink, vividly aware of Ed's eyes on him. 'It happened more than once, I'm sure. At the time it didn't make any sense. Kit wasn't a victim to anyone. He was strong and confident, not an alchemist, but a good soldier; a born leader. He could have been Fuhrer one day.'

'When I found out what was happening I told him to report it. Hern had him trapped, blackmailed until he felt powerless to do anything to help himself. Eventually he took my advice but... .' Roy swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. His fingers tightened around the glass until his knuckles were white

'They killed him, didn't they?' Ed was no longer slumped in the chair. He had propped his arms on the edge of the table, his eyes intently focussed as he listened, appalled.

'It was wartime,' Roy murmured, repeating the excuse he had heard so many times. 'They said that such accusations were insubordination. One minute he was there and the next –' he drew in a deep breath, tasting the smoke in the air. 'I don't even know where he's buried. A common grave somewhere, I suppose.' The tension in his muscles started to sing, winding tighter with every beat of his heart. He did not talk about Kit. It was another part of his life that was locked behind a door and ignored, only to emerge in the deepest darkness of the night to parade itself in front of his eyes. Eventually he managed to murmur, 'At least you were strong enough to fight him off, Ed.'

There was a moment of tense silence, and Roy glanced up in time to see Ed's lips twist into a grimace. Gold hair fanned across his cheek as he shook his head a little, his fingers curling into uncomfortable knots on the tabletop. The grazes on his knuckles had stopped bleeding, but they were still dark marks against honey pale skin, vivid and disturbing.

Roy's throat felt tight as he stared at the young man in front of him. He was only sixteen, but right now he looked so much older. 'What did he do?' he finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion as his mind whirled with the possibilities. Hakuro had not said anything specific, and he had just assumed that Ed had defended himself before Hern could do any lasting damage, but rape was not just about penetration, and the bruises on Ed's flesh and his subdued body language were telling their own story.

'He didn't get his dick in me, if that's what you're worried about,' Ed shrugged, blunt as always. His flesh fingertips skimmed the rough grain of the table as if he was trying to pick the answers from its texture. 'He just touched me and wouldn't stop. I was too fucking stupid to realise what he was doing until he was too close.'

The tension in Roy's jaw was painful, and the shaky, unbalanced feeling that had haunted him since he had spoken with the Fuhrer amplified ten-fold. Against all his better judgement he had been trying to convince himself that it was just an unwanted caress rather than all out assault. The proof to the contrary was right there in the way Ed sat and spoke. He was not timid, but the wildfire of his temper was a muted thing, shrouded in confusion.

'How did you get away?' Roy asked, needing some way to rationalise what he was being told. 'Did Hakuro interrupt, or -'

Ed's face went stone hard, and his expressive eyes flashed with fierce anger, burning away the apathy that had dulled their colour. 'He said he could have me court-martialled if I didn't do what he wanted. He threatened Al, said he would -' Ed's voice choked for a second, although it was clearly from rage and disgust rather than anything else. 'Said that Al would be more cooperative than me.'

Roy shut his eyes for a moment, giving silent thanks that Hern had been stupid enough to bring Al into the situation. There was nothing in the world more important to Ed, and nothing else could have guaranteed the same vicious retaliation. Hern probably still did not know what had hit him. Something about the fact that Ed had managed to fight back, to escape with his own strength, gave Roy comfort.

'I just don't get it,' Ed said, so quietly that Roy almost did not hear him. He was staring at the cool steel of his automail as if it were something alien, tracing the lines of each plate with his gaze. 'Why did he choose me when he could have had someone –' He shrugged angrily, as if irritated at himself for asking. '-whole?'

The empty tumbler twitched in Roy's hand, although he doubted it was the only sign of his surprise. He knew that Ed covered up his automail, but he had never taken the time to think about why. That red coat had become as much of a uniform for the young man as Amestris's blue and gold was for the rest of the army. He had never realised that, to Fullmetal, it was a shield between himself and the rest of the world.

Ed saw the automail as a weakness: as something that made him less of a person in the eyes of others, but the opposite was true. Back then, years ago, when Ed had been nothing but a child almost completely hidden in bandages, he had been broken. Not because he was missing his arm and leg, but because he had lost his brother through his actions. From the first day Roy had no doubt that Ed saw the automail as a permanent reminder of his sin, but all Roy saw was a symbol of the kind of courage and strength he could never hope to have. To lose an arm was bad enough, but to then willingly give up another limb to save his brother… .

It was tempting to tell Ed so - to argue that there was nothing incomplete about him, but Roy had no doubt it would be like trying to talk to a brick wall. Pity would be met with anger, and any denial would be ignored or disbelieved. It was so easy to forget that Ed really was just a teenager, and that those same insecurities that plagued everyone lingered beneath the surface. He had never openly shown any desire to fit in. In fact he was so brash and bold, so dazzlingly bright, that even without the automail and the scars, even without the lasting spectre of guilt in his eyes, he would still never be just one in a crowd. He was too extraordinary for that.

'You are whole,' Roy said, his voice carrying the same kind of certainty he used to give orders, and he carried on quickly before Ed could do more than give a quiet snort of disbelief. 'Hern doesn't choose people at random or just leap on an opportunity. If he did not even the army could have ignored this for so long.' Firmly he put the empty tumbler to one side, fighting back to nagging urge to ask for another and just lose himself in the comforting haze of alcohol. 'He saw your automail as another kind of challenge, not as a disability.'

Ed opened his mouth to growl a response, but it was lost in the clang of the bell behind the bar. The barkeeper's booming voice called out time, and he shook his head as the drunk and the desperate asked for just one more glass. 'No drinks after midnight,' he called out, turning his back on his patrons and beginning to take down the bottles.

'We need to get you home to Al,' Roy pointed out quietly, watching the hollow, frightening emotions on Ed's face give way to the more familiar cocktail of guilt and happiness at the mention of his brother's name. 'Can you stand up?'

Ed just gave him a sharp look and got to his feet. He did not fall or slump back into his chair, but he did move with the deliberate care of someone whose reflexes were not as sharp as they could have been. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor as he picked his way towards the door, leaving Roy to follow.

'You don't have to walk me home,' Ed said flatly as Roy caught up and fell into the easy, unconscious stride of soldiers everywhere. 'I know the way.'

'I promised Al I'd bring you home,' he replied, the tone in his voice gentle but firm. He would not feel comfortable until he knew that Ed was safe in the apartment .The vulnerability that had been so stark on the young man's face had lessened, but it had not vanished completely. It was clear to see that the shadows of what had happened would plague Ed long after the bruises had faded. The deadness in his eyes may have lifted, and his pale face may have given way to the flush of alcohol in his system, but that did not mean that Hern was forgotten.

Ed's moods were not as transparent as most people believed. The young alchemist had learned early on that by presenting an angry, shallow front he could stop people asking too many questions or looking too hard. It was easy, even to those who knew him best, to forget that his fierce temper could be hiding so much more. Perhaps now he was open and vulnerable, but by tomorrow it would all be locked away, just another bad dream in a life tainted by nightmares.

The streets were quiet, and nothing disturbed the peace except the sound of their footsteps and the occasional distant purr of a car engine. At some point they had unconsciously fallen into step, and Roy glanced over at Ed's down bent head, wishing there was some way he could remove this latest blemish from Edward's life.

Part of him, some small, cynical fraction, was surprised that something like this had not happened earlier. If he had noticed that Fullmetal was becoming more attractive then it was hard to believe that it had escaped other people's attention.

Sometimes he wondered how much occurred on missions that somehow slipped Ed's memory when he wrote reports. Of course, until recently Al's seven-foot suit of armour would have neutralised most threats before they became an issue, but now? If someone else like Hern decided to take without asking and Ed was alone, would it still work out the same? Would he find the strength to retaliate, or would it somehow fail him when he needed it the most? Ed was not defenceless; Roy knew that, but it did not stop the strange, uncomfortable need to keep him safe. In the past he had always let Ed face what the world threw at him, but this was too close; too personal. It was not Ed's sin, but it marked him none-the-less.

He thought of the mission briefing on his desk. He had meant to give it to Ed, but surely there was another alchemist who could take care of it? Perhaps for now it would be best to keep Fullmetal close to Central. There was always research that needed doing. Besides, Ed would not want to be removed from his brother's side a bare six weeks after retrieving him from the gate. Right now he needed to be somewhere familiar, not halfway across the country dealing with yet another rumour of alchemy abuse.

There was no way it could be considered favouritism or preferential treatment. He was merely taking his subordinate's current circumstances into account. Commanding officers were encouraged to consider all the options and choose the person best for the job at a given time. Ed was just a young man under his command, like Havoc or Fuery.

God, he was good. These days he could even believe the lies he told himself.

It did not take them long to reach the apartment building, and as they approached Ed stopped and turned to face him, his shoulders hunched uncomfortably. 'Thanks,' he eventually mumbled, 'for reassuring Al, I mean. You didn't have to come and find me or – or talk to me about it or anything.'

'What are you going to tell your brother?'

Ed sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the windows of the apartment. 'I don't know.'

The lights were still on, shining like defiant banners in the night. To Roy it looked like a welcome respite, but he doubted that Edward saw it that way. There was no way the bruises could be hidden, and Al was observant. He would not be fobbed off with any excuses, but somehow he doubted Ed would tell the truth.

Ed would still do anything to keep his brother's vision of the world as pure as possible. He might be stuck under the shadow of his past, but as long as Al could always walk in the light then it was a burden he would bear in silence.

He watched as Ed straightened his shoulders, not missing the flicker of pain or the way he pressed a hand to his ribs for a second. Without thinking he reached out, touching Ed's shoulder in gentle support. He expected the young man to flinch. Instead Ed hesitated for a second, neither leaning in nor pulling away. In a second the tension fled his frame and he relaxed, his shoulders slumping as if a great weight had been lifted from them.

Instinctively Roy reached up, brushing his fingertips gently along the edge of the bruise on Ed's jaw. The air between them thickened, and Roy's breath locked in his throat as he realised how close they were standing. He had meant to offer comfort, to make one touch tonight about something other than violence, but this – this was lust: hard and tempting.

Beneath his fingertips he felt Ed's pulse quicken, and one glance told him that he was not the only one affected. Ed was looking up at him, confused but not frightened. His pupils were dilated, leaving only a thin band of gold around the circumference of that darkness, and his lips were parted in surprise.

Quickly Roy dropped his hand and stepped back, dragging air into his lungs as his body shook, rocked by the combined punch or surprise and sharp, unexpected desire. That was not meant to happen. Ed was meant to hit him or pull away. Instead he was looking at Roy curiously, and probably seeing far more than he wanted him to.

Roy locked his fingers behind his back, clamping down hard on the urge to reach out again. It was the alcohol. It had to be. Perhaps the barkeeper had given him more than a double and it was clouding his judgement, robbing him of his usual restraint.

'Al will be waiting.' His voice sounded hoarse, and he silently prayed that Ed would not ask any questions.

Ed's eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a second, intelligent despite however many drinks he'd had. Finally the tiniest fraction of a smile curved his lips before he turned away, calling over his shoulder, 'See you tomorrow, Mustang.'

Roy watched him go, dragging in a deep breath of the night air as Ed jogged up the steps and vanished into the building. Roy had set off tonight intent on making sure that Hern had not broken Ed for good but, somehow, he was the one who had ended up in pieces.

**The End**

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_A/N - This piece is experimental. In future it may become the prologue for a longer piece, but, for now, I think it works as a stand-alone. Thank you all for reading, and I would be a very bad person if I did not thank all those who have helped me with this. You all know who you are ;)_

_Finally it would be very remiss of me not to thank Rainjoyous for writing so much fantastic Roy/Ed fic. Her voice has been an influence in this piece I am certain. If you would like to read her work then her work is on livejournal under the name rainjoyswriting._

_B xxx _


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